Don't Cage the Wolf
by Khatt
Summary: If you're smart, if you value your continued existence, if you have any plans about seeing tomorrow: Don't trap the Doctor, and don't cage the Wolf. Main setting for the WolfStorm-verse.
1. Rome

A/N:This... was not written on purpose. This is what happens when you're stuck in traffic with your beta reader and she starts asking "what if" questions. Finishing it was not initially high on my priority list, but due to the massive influx of reviews, it is now my main project!

* * *

Big fancy dinners were hard to come by in fourth century Rome. Hard to come by, that is, unless you were rich. Or the centurion leader of the legion's first cohort. Or Cleopatra. Or the earth-bound avatar of the goddess Venus.

Fortunately for the peckish Doctor, his psychic paper managed to convince the local magistrate that his troupe encompassed all four of these particular traits. He could, of course, make a meal himself (he _had_ managed gourmet training in French _haute_ _cuisine_), but when one has an appetite for a Saturnalian feast, one goes to a proper Saturnalia celebration.

Amy and River wore togas and sandals, enjoying the freedom offered to women during this particular festival. Rory wore full centurion regalia, minus his gladius, which he'd left with a blacksmith to be repaired. The Doctor felt no self-consciousness strolling about 300 B.C. in his suit jacket and bowtie—he had finally moved his miniscule perception filters from his old trainers into the elbow pads of his coat to keep the locals from looking too closely.

Ten minutes after parking the TARDIS, they sat down to eat. (They skipped the opening ceremonies at the Forum. Ritualistic sacrifice, animal or otherwise, never had set well with the Doctor.) All was going quite well—though Amy complained about the hot wine—when a decidedly modern, electronic trill was heard.

"Sorry," River said to the rest as she dug her handheld communicator out of the pouch on her belt, "can't step out of the cell for two minutes or they start to miss me." She extricated the device and answered it, placing it up to her ear and earning several odd stares from the locals sharing their table. "No, really," she added in a whisper, "that's how long it takes the sensors to notice I'm gone." River finally spoke into the phone grill. "Yes, this is Dr. Song."

"You know, Amy," the Doctor addressed his red-haired friend, leaning across the table to speak in a conspiratorial whisper, "in the twenty-second century, they actually _ban_ the use of mobile phones in fancy restaurants. Seem to think it's rude."

"Repeating what? Still?" River, still speaking to the caller, gave him an I-hate-you look.

"No you don't," the Doctor said aloud, setting down the chunk of bread he'd been eating on. "Where's Rory?"

"Over there," Amy motioned to her left, and the Doctor trailed his eyes in that direction until they landed on a group of armed guards. "Talkin' about swords and whatnot," she replied.

"'Bad Wolf'? What does that even mean?" River said into her phone.

"Said he'd be back in a mo', he knows this place apparently. D'you think he had a house here?" Amy continued pointlessly. "Doctor?"

His brain spun in perfect, dizzying clarity, and his hearts ignited with a cold fire. "River," the Doctor stated. She glanced in his direction and he was amazed that anyone could hear his voice over the thundering chaos in his mind. "Give me your phone."

River held up a finger as though to say 'one moment'. "Has she said anything else since you've upped the dosage?"

"River." The chill in the Doctor's voice froze all activity at the table. All eyes, from River's to the Romans', turned to view this suddenly frightening man. "Give me your phone. _Now._" He waited exactly four seconds for her to comply. When she didn't, he seized the device from across the table and addressed the caller in a calm, dangerous tone. "I want you to listen very carefully because your life and my sanity depend on it. You're going to tell me exactly where you are, _right_ now, because you have something I want and I'm coming to take it from you. If you have any delusions of stopping me or harming her, I will ensure the destruction of your very existence. I'm the Doctor. I'm sure you know well enough what that means. Now—give me your coordinates."

The spoken numbers burned themselves into his memory like a hot brand, and he dropped the communicator, "_Amy, stay with Rory_!" the Doctor called over his shoulder before sprinting back towards the Trevi Fountain where the TARDIS was parked. River was right behind him, shouting for him to wait, that he needed more detail, and didn't he want to be apprised of the situation. He gave no indication that he cared he was being followed.

"_Dr. Song! Dr. Song!_" the still-active communicator buzzed from the table. Amy picked it up.

"Hello? Who is this?" she asked quietly, trying to avoid the stares of her fellow festival-goers.

Amy heard a clink of metal and the electronic voice continued, "_Where's Dr. Song?_"

"She's—" Amy craned her neck over the heads of the milling crowd and caught a fleeting glimpse of two running figures on a far slope, "stepped out."

"_When she gets back, tell her_," the voice said. "_She's saying something else. She says… she says the storm is coming._"

* * *

Rose was not cold, but she felt as though she should be. She'd been trapped—somewhere. Somewhere bright. Somewhere _very _bright for an impossibly long time. She lay on a small cot and tried to work out where she'd been before and where she was now. No use, she decided, after a minute or so.

She went through her prescribed post-jump checklist. Motor functions appeared to be in order, she thought to herself as she flexed fingers and toes. Lungs were okay, though the stench of the place didn't exactly encourage deep breathing. Her throat felt hoarse from use, but she wasn't aware of having spoken. Hearing was fine, once she concentrated over the rush of her own blood. Whatever they'd given her—or _weren't_ giving her—was starting a massive headache in her temples.

One of the guards right outside was now on a mobile, staring through the bars at Rose's prone form in morbid curiosity. A shift in… something, Rose didn't know what, caused her to look over at him, opening her eyes and rolling her neck until she faced the door. Whatever was being said to him caused his eyes to widen first in confusion, then in fear. Rose swore she could smell the guard's terror as he rattled off a string of numbers. Numbers that resolved themselves in her mind's eye as a distinct galactic coordinate. She knew where she was. Behind the guard's babbling, a name rang out in his head—the reason he was now trembling and unlocking her cage. A name Rose clung to, and prepared herself to fight for.

"The Storm is coming," she said as her eyes began to glow.


	2. Cage

A/N: Because of an astounding number of reviews for the previous chapter, this fic is now my top priority. Thanks so much to everyone for the kind words, they are more motivating than you know!

* * *

The Doctor twisted levers and flipped navigational switches with uncontainable eagerness. There was no 'fast enough' speed with which to accomplish his objective, so when River slammed the doors behind her and unquestioningly began plotting the most efficient relativistic temporal course conveyance, he accepted the help without complaint.

Once the course had been input and the TARDIS began her sail through the vortex, the Doctor reached up for the console monitor he kept on a swivel, swinging it towards him to study the obstacle ahead.

As he looked through the blueprints of the chiseled, concrete catacombs that made up the prison, he vaguely registered that River was speaking.

"...thought she was a threat, she knew so much about you…"

He swiped through another page on-screen. How to formulate a plan of attack? He was familiar with the future layout of this particular prison planet; perhaps it hadn't changed too much. If the indigenous species were as steadfast as architects as they were as wardens, definitely. If not, one small mistake would be detrimental.

"…just kept saying 'have to find the Doctor', they thought she was hunting you!"

"She was," the Doctor stated, typing commands into the module without looking up, "and whoever stopped her'll have me to answer to."

"Doctor, she's _dangerous_," River said, still making minute adjustments to the TARDIS's route, "you should've seen what she did to the squadron that brought her in. She's been under heavy sedation ever since, and even then they won't get too close. She's got some sort of—_power_. My contact says they've never seen anything like it."

"How long?" the Doctor asked, reaching again for the screen to assess his new data.

"What?"

He gripped the bars of the screen's support. His hands were shaking, but whether in anger or fear he didn't know. "How long have they kept her from me?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice calm.

River looked frustrated. "Doctor, are you _listening_? There's some sort of energy field she's controlling that they can't even get a reading on. It's either too strong or too unknown, and we don't even know who she _is_!"

"_I_ _KNOW WHO SHE IS!_" The Doctor's attempt at decorum finally failed him, as he slammed a closed fist on the control panel, making River jump in surprise. After staring at her shocked expression for a heartsbeat, he calmed the rage in his eyes and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and attempting to repair the violent dent in the metal. He cleared his throat, and spoke again, his voice now level. "I know who she is. And I'm going to need your help rescuing her." When he looked up again, the desperation in his expression could have melted dwarf star alloy. "Please, River."

River took a deep breath, then nodded determinedly. As she perused the information on the screen, she addressed the Doctor. "Alright. What's the plan?"

"We're going to ask nicely," he answered her. She gave a skeptical snort. "And when that doesn't work," he continued, interlacing his fingers and stretching his arms out in front of him, "we're going to have to break down a few doors."

When she saw the spark of heroism dancing in his eyes, River made a point of unbuckling her holster.

* * *

The guard that had wisely unlocked Rose's cell door was allowed to live. The two men that shot at her the instant she stepped out were not. She didn't kill them exactly, just sent them… somewhere else. And given the percentage of the universe that was vacuum, their likelihood of survival was dismal. Rose was completely disoriented at first, but the memory of being brought in resurfaced as she turned to face the open hallway, and the layout of the prison was immediately clear. She managed three strides in the right direction before a loud metallic screeching caused Rose—and the guard—to cover their ears in protest.

A loud tapping noise sounded over the speaker system, almost like someone testing a microphone. "Hello? Is this building on?"

Alright then, _exactly_ like someone testing a microphone.

"This is the Doctor speaking." A cheery voice burst from the speakers. "At least, that's what I'm normally called. You've probably heard that I dislike violence, but I'm about to walk into this prison to rescue someone very important to me. _So_," his voice took on a threatening tone, "you may want to ask yourself why I also answer to 'Bringer of Darkness', 'Destroyer of Worlds', 'The Oncoming Storm' and various other frightening nicknames. I must admit, though, I've grown quite attached to that last one; the Daleks gave me that, only good thing they've ever given me, but listen to me, I'm rambling."

Rose grinned, biting her lip, at the nearest loudspeaker and felt her heart race at the sound of her Doctor's voice. A new voice, surely, but she was now more certain of his identity than she had ever been. Who else would break _into_ a prison?

"Rose?" His mention of the Daleks and his addressing her over an intercom brought back a flood of memory, and for a second she flashed back to the events of Satellite Five and the first time she thought she'd lost him.

"Yes, Doctor?" She responded exactly as she'd done years ago, though she had no reason to believe he could hear her.

"I'm coming to get you," he promised just as he had before, and with that repetition, Rose felt the assurance that even though she couldn't see his face, even if he'd changed again, this was _her_ Doctor. He continued, "If they're smart enough to let you loose, see if you can't get to a higher level." There was silence over the intercom for a few moments, as though the next words were of paramount importance. "I'll see you in a bit," the Doctor said, and she heard the click of the system's shutdown.

Rose grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher from the wall to use in case of confrontation. Hang it all if she hadn't spent the last two years trying to get back to him; now was not the time to sit and wait to be rescued. She ran in the direction of the stairs, each set of doors she passed through bursting open in a shower of gold light.


	3. Rescue

A/N: Long chapter is long! It's about twice the length of the rest, but I couldn't bear to split it up, so here's a double dose to start your week.

* * *

"Where's the containment level?"

"No idea."

"I thought you _lived_ here!"

"That's fifty thousand years from now, they've redecorated!"

The Doctor and River shouted over the sounds of gunfire from opposite sides of a large archway that opened into a wide corridor. In the fifty-second century, it led down to the prison mess hall, but—as River continued to point out—a few things would change in the next five hundred or so decades.

"You do realize," River commented as two guards passed through the arch. She shot one in the back with a shock pistol as the Doctor stuck out a booted foot and tripped the other, sending both men tumbling down the stairs, "that _this_ is the year they rename this place Stormcage?"

"Is it?" The Doctor peeked around the corner from a crouched position and held up three fingers to indicate the size of the next group about to pass. "Hope that doesn't mean they catch us." River took an ionic pulse charge from a cargo pocket and tossed it down the hallway; the Doctor shielded his eyes as he activated it, mid-flight, with a zap of his screwdriver. After a soundless, blinding flash, they peeked out from their shelter to see three half-stunned men, still groping, unseeing, towards the doorway.

The two intruders tiptoed past the guards, careful not to make any noise. They'd almost reached the far door when an entire platoon came bursting through. The Doctor and River flattened themselves against opposing walls. There was no hope now in not being seen—they'd be lucky if they weren't trampled.

When they were completely ignored, the Doctor reappraised the situation. "River, look," he called over the heads of the troops, "they're not marching, they're _running_."

River saw that each was armed, but that weapons dangled uselessly from straps or had been hastily stuffed into holsters, freeing up their hands for opening doors and pushing one other out of the way in their desire for escape. "They're scared of something," she surmised.

The last few stragglers made their way past, one gasping for breath through sobs of terror. River turned the corner and inhaled sharply, grabbing the Doctor's upper arm to pull his attention away from the back of the crying young man.

The sight that greeted the Doctor caused a vastly different reaction. Tendrils of glittering mist like liquid sunlight were seeping through the edges of the wooden door in front of them.

"Who's afraid," the Doctor asked himself in a whisper, reaching out his hand and running his fingers over the door, "of the big, Bad Wolf?" He reached for the handle, and turned to face River, composing himself for what had to come next. "Before we go, I should probably let you know why we came here. Sorry, I've been a bit distracted. But this is—"

"Rose Tyler, love of your life, my best mate, so on and so forth, _can_ we move on?" The Doctor looked at her blankly, and she sighed. "I'm from your future, remember? My memories have been re-writing themselves since we landed; a lot's changed for me in the past few minutes." She checked the charge on her pistol, and re-inserted a clip that had come loose. "Just answer me one question, Doctor. You've seen the future. Our future."

He knew what she was asking. River had never hidden her intentions towards him, and he'd been perilously close to giving in to her, if only to avoid causing another heartbreak like Martha's or Sarah Jane's. He was quiet, unable to think of a kind way to answer.

"All for the best, then," River said, interpreting his silence correctly. "In any case, you're much easier to get along with when she's around."

"I'm sorry, River," he said sincerely.

She nodded. "I'll manage. But I've seen the two of you, and I wouldn't take that away from anyone. Can we go? I'd really like to see her again, it's been ages."

The Doctor suddenly dropped his grip from the handle and snapped his head around to fix his eyes on River, utter disbelief etched on his face. "Hold on, '_best mate_'?"

River gave him a knowing look and arched her eyebrows. "Spoilers," she said, then shouldered open the door.

The sight that greeted them gave a new, literal meaning to the term "mess hall". Shards and splinters of various kitchen implements were littered about the floor and a few were impaled in the walls. Not a single piece of whole furniture remained. Four seated men faced them, their backs to an overturned wooden table. One would occasionally fire a blind shot over his shoulder—if only to distract their aggressor—while the others scanned for possible escape routes.

The object of their fear reached out a hand in a lazy, almost negligent wave. Their barrier dissolved, and she followed their stumbling progress with blazing eyes until they reached the door. When her gaze fixed on the Doctor, she melted into the surrounding golden mist for an instant, only to reappear directly in front of him, her palm flat on his chest and covering both hearts.

He had less than half a second to marvel at the astounding beauty and raw power of the creature in front of him before she thrust her palm out, shoving him back a handspan and pinning him against the wall.

"Oh right, new face." He lifted both hands quickly to shoulder height in the most unthreatening manner possible. "It's me, it's the Doctor. I swear, Rose, it's me."

She blinked away the fires,and for the first time in longer than he cared to remember, Rose's eyes looked into his. That deep, dark brown that had entranced him from the moment he'd first seen her in the basement of Henrik's department store. He remembered going back and asking for her name, just to see them again.

"Doctor?" Rose asked softly. The pressure from her hand eased into a caress. Her fingers trailed up over his shoulder and down the sleeve of his tweed jacket to land, fitted, in his palm. Rose's lips were centimeters from his when her expression became suddenly irate. "Where the _hell_ have you been!" she demanded, before cupping the back of his neck and kissing him, hard.

River chuckled.

Rose broke away from the Doctor, breathless, and turned to her. "Hi!" she said, flushed and grinning. "Sorry, he's a bit rude sometimes. Must have carried over. I'm Rose."

The Doctor was still leaning against the wall looking bemused. "Rose Tyler," he said, motioning to each woman in turn. "River Song."

"Pleasure to meet you, dear. I'm sure we'll get along just fine, the Doctor's told me so much about you."

"Have I?"

"Spoilers," River reminded him again, before turning back to Rose. "What say we escape this drafty old prison and pop back to London for chips?"

"Oh, I like you," Rose said, flashing a grin.

River smiled over Rose's head at the Doctor and winked. He rolled his eyes, thumping his head back against the wall. "Follow me, you two," River said, unholstering her shock pistol again and holding it at the ready. "TARDIS is this way." She grabbed a dropped two-way radio from the nearby carnage and fiddled with the dial. After a few beeps that sounded like Morse code and a static-filled announcement that may have been an order _not_ to attempt their capture, they heard the voice of the guard that had set Rose free. He and River began to discuss escape logistics, and Rose fell into step with the Doctor.

Walking hand-in-hand down a corridor in the middle of a life-threatening situation was such a routine thing that it seemed only days since they'd last seen each other. "Gonna tell me why you're dressed like my year nine Maths teacher?" She asked him, squeezing his hand.

"I get lonely sometimes. And you _still_ owe me homework."

"What, seriously?"

"Yes! Chapters nine and ten, you always did hate exponents."

"No, seriously, you went back to teach me maths?"

"Well, I _tried_, but it's very difficult if you won't do your _homework_."

"Shareen thought I was daft for fancying you," Rose admitted. He smiled down at her. "She figured you were barmy, walkin' around in a bowtie." Rose reached up with their clasped hands to touch the silk fabric for emphasis. "Not me, though. I always thought it was sort of 'geek chic'."

"'Bow ties are cool'?" he asked her.

"Yeah, I s'pose you could put it like that."

River reached the large door ahead of them and held up a hand, motioning for them to stop. She confirmed the final plans over the walkie-talkie before clipping it back to her waistband and relayed to them, "All right, this door should be opening in about thirty seconds. They're under orders not to shoot you, but you may want to run just in case. I'm going back in to meet with my contact." River laid a gentle hand on Rose's shoulder, and her voice dropped to a soothing tone. "You don't know me yet, but you will. I'll find out who was keeping you here and make sure they won't try it again." River let her hand drop. "I'll contact the both of you when I have more information." As she started back inside at a run, she added over her shoulder, "And this time, Doctor, _answer your bloody phone_!"

* * *

When the door opened, everyone on duty fled at the sight of Rose. "Blimey. Guess the Bad Wolf did a number on them."

"Well, you were quite frightening," the Doctor said as he directed them to where the TARDIS had landed. "In a good way," he added at the sight of her expression.

"Why'd it come back?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "There's a medbay onboard that I don't get to use very often; a couple of hair samples and we'll get you figured out." After a pause, he asked, "How did you get here?" He wanted to know about his cloned human self—wasn't Rose happy? Was he not the same man? Had something terrible happened?—but couldn't formulate the question.

"Well, Pete's like this 'head honcho' in Torchwood, yeah? So I kind of convinced him to start working on this, I dunno, travel machine. Sort of like a… dimension cannon. So I could come back."

"Dimension cannon?"

"That's the idea. But first time I used it, there's the _huge_ light I get stuck in for ages, and next thing I know I'm breaking out of prison." She looked over at him, beaming. "Worked, though, didn't it?"

The Doctor took a moment to process the time gap as they finally reached the TARDIS. Something was very, very wrong. "So if I said 'metacrisis' or 'twenty-seven planets in the sky', that wouldn't mean a thing to you?" he asked as he opened the doors. He turned, expecting Rose's response. Instead, he watched her pitch slowly forward as shimmering golden light flowed from her eyes and mouth to the interior of the control panel, back into the heart of the TARDIS.

His body took action as his brain tried to deny everything it saw; he barely remembered catching her and bringing her unconscious form inside. Murmuring encouragements to her in English, Gallifreyan, and a hundred other languages, he set their course to Rome, grateful that he knew the exact location of a nurse that would aid him without question.

There were times when it was his solemn duty to set right the corruption in the universe and times when the whole of reality hung in the balance, waiting for him to make a decision. But right now, he was a selfish old man. As he knelt on the grating, pulling Rose's limp body to his chest, feeling her rapid, erratic heartbeat, and absolutely aching with hurry, he vowed to break any rule, any law of nature necessary to keep her.


	4. Flashback

A/N: Doctor/Rory bromance is best bromance.

* * *

**-_Five months previously_-**

Rory was lying on one of the library couches flipping through automobile periodicals that somehow managed to keep themselves current. "That's my favorite car," he said, holding up a magazine and pointing at a bright red Jaguar E-Type. He'd liked Jags since he was very young; the feline scream of the engines was such a distinctive sound. And he'd always been partial to red.

"Hmm."

He heard the noncommittal noise from the direction of Doctor, which was completely unfair to the beauty and power of the vehicle. Rory craned his neck to look over the armrest towards the wingback chair the Doctor had chosen, seeing him flipping through another stack of magazines. Rory turned back to the article for a moment, considering, struck yet again by the alienness of his wife's best friend. The Doctor looked human enough, but his reactions were never typical. Calling the Atraxi back to earth for a stern talking-to, thrilled with the prospect of fish vampires in Venice, living through the childhood of one grouchy old man in order to save two thousand people on a crashing spaceship. The man was insane. And brilliant. Insanely brilliant. Rory turned back to the Doctor. "Do you have a favorite car?"

"No," he said, turning another page.

It was hard to pin down exactly where you stood with the Doctor. You might be treated like family one minute and an inferior species the next. Or you may be completely forgotten in favor of some astronomical mystery. Even for an alien, he was hard to figure out. Rory was so lost in his contemplation of extraterrestrial non-verbal communication that he started when the Doctor spoke again.

"But I do have a favorite flower."

Rory propped himself up on an elbow and turned again towards the Doctor. He spoke without thinking. "Roses." The Doctor looked up from his reading. "You like roses," Rory repeated. "Right?" he asked after a brief silence.

"Yes," the Doctor said cautiously, "How did you know?"

Rory waved his magazine towards the interior of the room. "They're everywhere." And they were. Carvings on the crown molding, detailing on the banisters, paintings on the walls, corbels on the fireplace, table legs, door frames, bookshelves. Everywhere you looked they peeped out—blossoms, buds, bushes, bouquets. The most obvious was the arrangement on the table that never seemed to wilt. "Mostly in here, but lots of other places, too."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow as though asking him to elaborate.

"There's the shower curtain in the first bathroom, the wallpaper in the kitchen," Rory ticked them off on his fingers as he continued, "The wreath around the base of that statue of Fortuna downstairs," (the Doctor snorted, amused at some hidden joke), "That massive one on your door, the little one carved on the underside of the console—did you do that?"

The Doctor nodded once, not quite meeting Rory's eyes. "When I first put in the repair hammock. Had a quick hop to the moon to test the engines and needed to make sure the chameleon circuit wasn't working."

"So... you carved a rose."

"I did, yeah." The Doctor wiped at his face with his hand, clearing it of expression. He leaned forward and rested his jacket's padded elbows on his knees.

"Huh."

"You're very observant, Rory," the Doctor said, looking up at him.

"Well," Rory thought hard on how to make his next statement sound as humble as possible, "when you're standing guard for a long time, you start to notice—"

"Everything?" the Doctor suggested.

"Yeah."

"I'm sure you do." The Doctor gave a sad smile. "It's been a long time since I've talked with an elder. How's it feel? Any words of wisdom for the young?"

Rory thought for a moment. Physically, he was in his early twenties. Mentally, he oscillated between this and nearly two thousand years old. He hadn't lived a super-exciting life in his time as an Auton, but he had learned a few things, one of which, he had a hunch, the Doctor needed to hear. "Don't be afraid to wait for someone who's worth waiting for."

There was a long silence, and Rory thought the Doctor might be clenching his teeth. "She's not coming back, Rory."

"Who's not?"

"Rose. She's not coming back. She's got no reason to, she's happy. Resolved."

"Rose," Rory affirmed, "is a _girl_? A _human_ girl?" This was not the side of the Doctor he'd planned on discussing when bringing up vehicular preference. "_You_ like girls?"

"Just the one."

Rory looked around again, seeing every tiny reference to roses in the library. He mentally re-listed every time he'd seen that particular flower in the TARDIS. Tiny things like shampoo scents and loose-leaf teas now carried extraordinary weight as he realized the sheer scope of the Doctor's desolation. "You miss her," he understated.

"More than you could possibly imagine."

"I could probably come close," he admitted, honestly.

The Doctor nodded again. "We met in London. Running, big explosions, Nestene consciousness, standard fare. I looked a bit different then."

Over the next hour, Rory heard a magnificient, heartbreaking story that put all other tragedies to shame. He wanted to shout, wanted to march against the breach, wanted to do _something_ that would cure the hollow loneliness that haunted the Doctor's eyes as he spoke of the Battle of Canary Wharf. When the Doctor reached the second course of events that took place on Bad Wolf Bay, Rory had to turn a single sob into a cough to preserve his masculine façade. As if losing her once hadn't been bad enough, to think for a few shining moments that they'd have a future only to lock her away in another universe with a better-suited version of himself?

The Last Centurion and the Lonely God sat together, pondering the past. "I'm sorry," Rory told the Doctor, unable to come up with anything more meaningful than those simple words, "That's… really horrible."

"If you could," the Doctor spoke softly as he stood to leave, "don't tell Amy just yet. She'll have a lot of questions, and it's the sort of conversation I have to prepare myself for in advance."

Rory completely understood. "Same for me with the Roman stuff. If it springs on you from out of nowhere, you get disoriented."

The Doctor paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorpost. "Thanks, Rory," he said as he turned, before adding in a moment of complete candidness, "You're a good friend." Then he walked out, off to set the coordinates for their next destination.

"Oh." Rory, otherwise wordless, responded to the empty room.

* * *

**_-300 B.C.-_**

The TARDIS landed solidly in the middle of the smithy. Amy barely heard the whine of the parking brake over the clanging of hammers and yelling of muscular, sweaty Roman men. There were worse places to be. She smacked Rory lightly on the arm and pointed, indicating that she was going on ahead. He nodded, in the middle of negotiating payment for his repaired gladius.

As she stepped into the TARDIS, she was immediately chilled. The cool metal of the handrailing and air-conditioned breeze in the control room was vastly different from the antiquated billows and smoke from the low-roofed outdoor building she'd just left.

"Amy, get Rory." She heard the muffled voice from the floor next to the console and looked up to see the Doctor cradling an unconscious girl, his forehead pressed to her shoulder.

"Who is that? Is that River? That's not River, where is she?" Amy looked around, but there was no sign of her. "You've been gone a _month_! Is she ok? That girl?"

The reflections from the console must have been playing tricks, because when the Doctor looked up, he appeared to have a thin, wet track running down his jawline. "Not now, Amy. Just," he reached out a hand and pointed, "open the door." She complied. "_RORY_!" Amy jumped as he shouted, "_RORY, I NEED… NURSE… THINGS_!"

Rory appeared seconds later, gladius in hand, in the TARDIS doorway. "What's wrong, what's happened? Are you ok?" he asked Amy.

"I'm fine, he's got," she motioned up the steps, "I dunno, company?"

Rory paused, taking in the Doctor's mixed expression and his desperate grasp around the girl he was holding. A petite blonde that he refused to let go. Rory nearly dropped his sword. "That's Rose."


	5. Medbay

"Who's Rose_?_"

"Not now, Amy," Rory said as he ran up the steps. The moment he was in sight of Rose's face, he froze and dropped to one knee in a traditional, deferential bow, one hand on the hilt of his sword that was now stuck, point downward, in the grating of the floor. "Fortuna," he whispered.

Amy started to protest, then recognized her husband's official bearing. Over the past few weeks, she'd started to notice when he shifted from Rory the Nurse to Rory the Roman. He was _definitely_ in full-out Roman mode now, and it had something to do with the girl the Doctor was holding.

The Doctor sighed and closed his eyes. "Right. Long story, Rory, one I forgot to mention."

"Speaking of," Amy prompted, pointing at herself with both hands. She redirected the gesture towards the girl in the Doctor's arms. "Who's the secret girl?" Her eyebrows knit together as she glanced at Rory's still-immobile form. "And why's he doing that?"

"Amy, this is Rose. I love her. Rory thinks she's a goddess, but right now she's very much in need of medical attention. _Snap_ out of it, Rory!" The Doctor directed his final words at the reverent Roman.

Rory shook off his surprise and closed the gap between himself and the Doctor. He began observing Rose's vital signs. "Sorry, there's a lot of," he waved a hand vaguely at his own head, "programming left over."

Amy, arms still crossed to ward off the chill, made her way slowly up the ramp. After her failed attempt at seduction last year followed by his self-description as a sort of 'space Gandalf', she viewed the Doctor as an asexual being. It had certainly justified his distaste for River's over-the-top flirting, but this was an altogether new explanation. She leaned over to Rory and asked in a conspiratorial half-whisper, "Did you know he liked girls?"

"Just the one," both men responded in unison.

Amy got the feeling that she'd missed a rather important afternoon tea.

"Does she feel cold to you? She feels cold to me, but I'm no sort of judge." the Doctor told Rory, still not quite letting go of Rose.

"Yeah, she is, it's just… I don't understand," Rory responded, checking the tips of Rose's fingers. "At this temperature, she should be showing severe signs of necrosis. Or d—" He bit back the last word as he caught sight of the Doctor's furious scowl.

"Don't you dare, Rory Williams," the Doctor growled through clenched teeth, pointing threateningly at Rory's chest as he spoke. "Don't you even dare, not for one second, now _fix_ her."

Rory flinched back, wary of the Doctor, and shared a raised eyebrow with Amy. Rory's Roman-to-nurse shift was visible as he spoke, "It's going to be fine; I'm going to pick her up now, all right?" Rory moved slowly, straining a little as he stood with Rose in his arms. "Now, Doctor, show me where your medical supplies are, can you do that?" The Doctor nodded numbly. Rory looked over at Amy and motioned towards the interior of the TARDIS with his head. She nodded, following close behind the Doctor and opening each door they came across, as he seemed incapable of doing so.

The Doctor's silence worried Amy. Usually, the trick was keeping him quiet. (To the point where her mother had specifically asked Amy not to invite him to any more family gatherings.) Now he walked the corridors of the Time Ship without a word, pausing to let her open doors and stepping aside as Rory passed. The Doctor never took his eyes from the girl. His silence on _that_ subject worried her more. He'd told her about the Time War, but never about this. How was this _worse_ than the Time War?

(Rory keeping secrets was another matter; she'd deal with him later. Amy went ahead and shot a glare in his direction to let him know of his impending reproof. Rory nodded in acknowledgement.)

The Doctor led them to a door no different than the last few, and Amy was surprised to find an actual room when she opened it. Given the immense, deep shelves lining the walls, it seemed to her more like a broad hallway than an actual medical center. As they walked in, Amy saw that they were filled with white boxes. All were identical, save for the label on the front. After spying one that had "human" scrawled on it in messy handwriting, Amy surmised that they were sorted by species, though the ordering escaped her. The TARDIS translated all but one, and she recognized a few of the names as they passed. Silurians, Saturnynians, and plenty of things she couldn't pronounce but that sounded familiar.

On the opposite wall was a mounted gurney hooked up to the strangest assortment of medical equipment imaginable. Three-dimensional screens gave temperature readouts and an autonomous robotic hand tapped out the same information in code. A heart monitor was perched on top of a seismograph, which gave its readout.

Rory lifted the girl onto the gurney and began hooking her up to the various pieces of equipment. More than once, he had to ask the Doctor to clarify which sensors went exactly where.

"Amy, bring the human box." Rory's order snapped Amy out of her musings.

"The what?"

"The box marked 'human'."

"What's in it?"

"Supplies," Rory shrugged. "I hope."

Amy went back towards the front of the room and slid the door open, picking up the box she'd spied earlier. She opened it, hoping intently that there wasn't an actual human inside, and let out her breath in relief when she saw first aid materials. She took the kit to her husband, privately proud of him for adapting to this strange and abrupt circumstance while still managing to get information about the setup from the unresponsive Doctor. Amy glanced again to the girl on the gurney. Her name was 'Rose', if his mutterings were any indication. Amy wasn't sure what language the Doctor was using, but it certainly wasn't English.

Rory shuffled through the box, checked the readings on the nearby machines, and checked the box again, becoming increasingly more agitated. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on his fringe in frustration. "It doesn't make _sense_. Her heart rate is erratic and amazingly high, her temperature is twenty degrees below normal, but everything else is _fine_. I can't raise her temperature without making her heart explode, and I can't lower her heart rate without freezing her to death. And according to _these_," he waved carelessly at the machines, "she's _asleep_."

The Doctor perked up. "REM sleep or Delta sleep? Nevermind," he shot up from his chair and dug through a cabinet under a nearby sink. "Where is it, where where where… Ah! There you go, polysomnograph, knew it'd come in handy." He hooked up the machine as Rory and Amy exchanged another wary look. Holding the metal box in his lap, he fiddled with the dials for a few seconds. "Oh, this is… I don't know what this is, there's not a proper word for it. 'Amazing'? 'Astounding'?"

"'Fantastic'?" Rory suggested.

The Doctor pointed at him affirmingly. "_Yes_, perfect. That's the one." Taking in their confused expression, he then turned the sleep sensor to face the Ponds. "Ohh, just _look_. Do you know what this means?" The Doctor shook his head, eyes wild, and turned back to the readings. "I mean, who knows _how_, but the point is… hold on, any second now."

Alarms blared as Rose's heart rate monitor flatlined. Rory looked around automatically for a defibrillator, while Amy stood to go to the Doctor in case he collapsed. Both were shocked to see him jump out of his seat with his fists in the air. He dropped his arms and ran both hands through his hair in excitement. "If the split was through the vortex and the rotor reconstructed the most recent genetic code from the heart of the TARDIS… but that could have been _ages_ ago. Of course, the parallelism would make project INDIGO and the dimension cannon operate on similar principle, and _this_ was the…" he collapsed back in his chair, sagging in thrilled exhaustion. He turned to face Rory and Amy, grinning.

"Er, Doctor," Rory started hesitantly, "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do. Rose, well… She's dead."

The Doctor waved a hand and blew a raspberry in response. "No, she's not. She's in a coma!"

Amy looked disturbed, "That's… not any better."

"Doctor, she's got no life signs."

"'Course not, it's a healing coma. Give her a few seconds, she'll come 'round," he said to them as he stood to remove the sensors from Rose's skin.

Rory opened his mouth to suggest grief counseling, but was distracted by a sleepy grumble from the bed.

"What's that, dear?" the Doctor asked Rose.

"I said 'why'm I craving celery?'," Rose replied as she reached up to rub one eye with the back of her hand. The Doctor helped her sit up and slipped of his jacket to drape it around her shoulders.

"Excellent question. Meanwhile," the Doctor turned, "Amy, could you go get the box that's marked with circles?"


	6. Rose

A/N:Thanks to everyone who held out through Con Season for this chapter. You'll (hopefully) be pleased to know that Don't Cage the Wolf is my project this year for NaNoWriMo!

* * *

Rose Tyler sat in the TARDIS kitchen looking down at her hands, turning them over again and trying to absorb the enormity of their existence. She chewed on her lip, like she'd always done when she was nervous. She traced a finger along the rim of her favorite mug, enjoying the familiarity it offered, and gazed around the kitchen. A few new items intruded on her memory of the room – a new basket holding a bunch of bananas sat where the napkin stand used to be, and the napkins now sat loose on the top of the bread box. The toaster oven had been replaced as well, but that was no surprise, as the Doctor rarely used it for its intended purpose and had a bad habit of catching it on fire every couple of weeks. Like the kitchen, Rose felt mostly unchanged, but her irritation continued.

There'd been a mix-up on her first time out with the dimension cannon. Rose had landed inside the heart of the TARDIS and rebounded out again in the Torchwood labs of Pete's World. Or so the Doctor said. Then after several more attempts with the help of someone called Donna, she'd contacted the Doctor, saved the universe from Daleks (_again_, Rose thought to herself), and returned to the parallel universe to adventure off with the Doctor's human-bodied clone.

It was difficult after so much time traveling, to come up with a wild story that Rose wouldn't believe, but this one came awfully close.

Rose had split in two. The dimension cannon worked perfectly; it sent her home. Or rather, into the time vortex, which she thought of as home. Rose's re-immersion into the heart of the TARDIS had linked her consciousness to the remnants of her mind that remained from the events of Satellite 5. The Bad Wolf. The Doctor kept going on about parallels between regeneration energy and the heart of the TARDIS causing both universes to produce duplicates, and Rose knew he was right.

She knew she was still herself. She knew her other self was happy.

Only one thing bothered her.

"These aren't my hands." She held them up in front of her face and wiggled her fingers.

The Doctor looked up from the celery on his cutting board. "How d'you mean?"

"Well, I mean, I buy it, the whole cloning bit," Rose chewed at her lip again, "but that means I'm a copy, yeah?"

The Doctor scooped the freshly chopped vegetables onto a plate with his knife and took the snack over to Rose, where he slid into the booth seat next to her. "This," he said, taking her hand and kissing the tips of her fingers, "is no copy."

"It is, though." Rose reached for the celery with her free hand. "I mean, I'm not in my own body anymore, am I?"

Taking a piece for himself, the Doctor joined Rose in her snack. "Well, it's definitely yours, as you're the one piloting it."

"You know what I mean." Rose rolled a celery stalk between two fingers, watching it twirl. "It weird, knowing that my mind's still the same when my insides are different, you know?"

The Doctor arched his eyebrows. "New New Rose?" he asked.

Rose gave a sad smile. "I s'pose. It's just… well, remember when we met? First thing? You grabbed my hand and said 'run'?" She stared once more at her spread fingers, closed her hand into a fist, and opened it again. "It's not the same hand. I miss it." Rose saw sympathy in the Doctor's gaze. Who better than he would understand the frustration of walking around in an unfamiliar vessel?

The Doctor held his hand to hers, palm-to-palm, and stared at the shape it made. "Here's the thing, love. You're right, these aren't the same hands Either of them, actually. I've managed to go through two others since then. But still," he interlaced their fingers and looked into Rose's eyes. "They're the hands that remember, and _that's_ what counts."

Rose leaned against him, still unsure. "Remind me again about the Time Lord thing?"

"Time _Lady_," the Doctor corrected her, tapping her nose. "The TARDIS didn't have a full biological workup of you, so when she takes human form and you pop out of the vortex, you get reconstructed with the genetic code of the last being to come in contact with it. Since I channeled it from you after that tiff with the Daleks, you ended up with Time Lord DNA."

"Time Lady," Rose reminded him, giving him a nudge with her elbow. "So two hearts, regenerations, the whole bit?"

"Yeah," the Doctor nodded, "Plus a handful of extra senses, some amazing arithmetic skills, and a penchant for certain earth vegetables."

"That's a lot to take in," Rose admitted. "Especially the bit about vegetables. Mum would've been thrilled."

The kitchen door opened to admit the TARDIS's other two passengers. Rory, out of training, started to dip into a bow, but Amy caught his shirt and pulled him upright. Rose looked to the Doctor for explanation.

The Doctor jerked his head towards Rory. "Roman. Very reverent, especially soldiers to the goddess of luck."

Rose worked at her lip with her teeth again and nodded in understanding. "I'm not actually Fortuna," she told Rory apologetically. "I mean, I was her statue, sort of. Long story."

"That's the same thing he said," Amy replied, indicating the Doctor. She put the kettle on and reached into the cabinets for cups and saucers. "Tea?"

"Yes, please!" the Doctor said excitedly. Rory replied in kind.

"Actually, I think I'm going to have a bit of a lie-down," Rose said. "Long day and all." As she walked out of the kitchen, she glanced up and down the unfamiliar patterns of the newly-designed hallway. "Bedroom's still in the same place?" she turned to ask.

The Doctor gave her a thumbs-up. "Haven't moved it." Rose smiled at him and left, her footsteps receding as she made her way to the room.

Rory's eyebrows knit together in confusion, "I thought you said She deleted all the bedrooms?" he asked, waving a hand vaguely to specify the TARDIS as he sat down in the seat Rose had just vacated.

"Well not _mine_, obviously," the Doctor responded, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

The Ponds shared a clandestine glance and Amy pursed her lips to one side as she continued preparing the tea.

"Is she going to be ok?" Rory asked the Doctor. His medical knowledge didn't cover alien species. Yet, in any case. He wondered if the library held any texts on Gallifreyan physiology; it might come in handy.

The Doctor folded his arms on the table in front of him. "She'll be perfectly fine, it might take a few weeks to shake off the remnants of the healing coma, but after that, no side effects. A couple hours of sleep each week should be sufficient to keep everything functioning in tip-top shape."

"A couple hours a week? Is that normal?"

_SLAM!_

Both men jumped in their seats as Amy threw the tea tray down on the table with enormous force.

"Is _anyone_ going to tell me what's going on?"

After a brief silence, an abashed Rory answered her. "His… girlfriend?" Rory looked at the Doctor for confirmation of the title. The Doctor made a disgusted face, one side of his lip curling, and shook his head no. "Wife, then?" The Doctor shuddered and stuck out his tongue. "Well, who is she?"

A shrug from the Doctor. "I always called her Rose."

"Fine," Rory sighed. "His Rose came back. She got stuck in a parallel world for a long time, and it sort of broke his heart."

"Which, by the way, count those," the Doctor added, pointing to both sides of his chest.

"And no one told me this why?" Amy demanded as she angrily added several sugar lumps to her tea, throwing them in and splashing the table in the process.

The Doctor's pained expression softened Amy's resentment. "Because it _hurt_," he told her honestly.

"And you?" she asked her husband.

Rory quickly pointed an accusing finger at the Doctor. "He told me not to."

Amy huffed. "Well, all right, then, but no more secret meetings without me." She blew across the surface of her tea before taking a drink. "So this Rose girl, she any good?" Amy asked.

The smile that lit the Doctor's face transformed him. Amy had seen him gleeful and giddy, but never full of this overabundant joy that the small blonde girl down the hall brought to him. "Amelia Pond, she is the _very_ best."


	7. Washington

A/N: For those of you who are familiar with my other stories, "Touch and Go" takes place between the previous chapter and this one. I didn't include it in the main storyline, because it's not plot-centric, but it is a cute little romp if you're in the mood for more of this particular universe!

* * *

Originally, Washington D.C. showed every sign of being a relaxing, educational destination. After parking the TARDIS in the Smithsonian Museum's storage warehouse ("for security reasons", the Doctor explained), the Ponds set out to explore the sights. The Doctor and Rose took longer to leave the museum, as he couldn't pass a display without praising the thorough scientific reasoning of a technologically inferior species or launching into a frustrated lecture on historical inaccuracy. In both cases, he had a field day with their exploration and had to be calmed down several times by Rose. Not that he minded. Each time, her touch on his arm reminded him that she was _there_, that she _existed_. Not only for the brief, flash-in-the-pan of a human lifetime, but in a form where they could savor their travels, spend _years_ on a planet if they felt like it, then run off in the dead of night for no reason other than the spontaneous call to adventure.

The Ponds were another story - they'd joined a tour group outside the museum quite by accident, and Rose and the Doctor didn't see them again until they arrived at the Lincoln Memorial. The Doctor was sonicing the statue for some unknown reason while Rose admired the grounds.

"…great big bearded bloke in an armchair," Amy heard Rose say as they approached.

While Rory went over to the statue of Lincoln to check the base for cracks or graffiti, Amy wandered up to Rose. "Sixteenth president of the United States," she said by way of breaking the ice. "Wrote the Emancipation Proclamation. Had a massive mole and an odd fondness for top hats. Used to be a prairie lawyer."

"Sounds like you've spent a lot of time with the Doctor," Rose teased amicably.

Amy pulled her jacket tighter against the breeze. "My best mate moved to America when I was six. I decided to run away to her house when my aunt said we were leaving Scotland. The only book we had about the States was a biography of Lincoln. I bet I read it a dozen times. That, and he was _our_ prairie lawyer about a month ago, right before you showed up."

Rose laughed, surprised. "You're serious, you met Lincoln? What was he like?"

"Really _really_ tall," Amy affirmed.

While Amy continued to spill her surprising knowledge of Honest Abe and nineteenth century American politics, the Doctor took notice of Rory's strange perusal. "Rory," he asked amused, lowering his sonic screwdriver, "what _are_ you doing?"

"Dunno," Rory replied with a shrug. "It looked like you were checking for something, so I thought I'd lend a hand." Rory looked up at the statue's face, and his eyes watered as the lighting made him squint. He let his vision trail back down the statue proper and noticed Lincoln's feet were uneven. "Sort of looks like he's trying to stand up, doesn't it? Weird."

The Doctor took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks. "That's what worried me at first. But I helped Dan draw up the plans myself, and the Piccirilli's took the job very seriously." He pocketed his screwdriver and ran a hand over his cheek. "Still, I pop back and check every once in a while to be sure. Never can be too careful."

Rory followed none of this, so he gave the Doctor an encouraging smile and nod before wandering over to where Amy and Rose were still talking.

Amy had slowly drifted from interesting facts about the surrounding buildings to trivia involving American cuisine, and Rory joined in with great interest. Rose called to the Doctor, distracting him from his examination. "I think the humans are hungry, Doctor. I wouldn't say no to a bite, either."

"There's a lovely restaurant in the Penn Quarter about half a mile down, 701." The Doctor said as he approached the group. "It'll be quicker walking than going back to the museum, actually."

"Seven hundred and one what?" Rose asked, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. The day was warm, but windy, and she fought with the blonde strands that threatened to impede her vision.

"That's its name – 701."

"Odd thing to call a restaurant."

"I had good reason at the time." The Doctor motioned them to a building slightly north of the National Archives and offered his arm to Rose, which she took. "That's how old I was when I opened it. Didn't stay too long, though. The toque made me go bald. I do hope they still have the jazz band."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw Amy look over to Rory and mouth the words 'jazz band?' to which he shrugged. "I'm just not surprised anymore," he answered aloud.

Their half-mile trek took a surprisingly short amount of time, considering the crowds of tourists on the sidewalks. "Are we going to the underground?" Amy asked the Doctor.

"'Metro'," he corrected her. "Yes and no." As they approached the station, the Doctor waved them towards a staircase that took them up instead of down, and they found themselves in a well-lit restaurant. Sure enough, live music could be heard from the back of the room.

The Doctor flashed his psychic paper sycophantically at the host behind the reception podium. "Reservation for four, if you please."

The thin-haired man in front of them glanced at an open leather-bound folder, then back at the psychic paper. He repeated this action twice, before the Doctor asked, "Problem?"

"Not at all, Count," he assured them with a slight bow. "Just some improper bookkeeping on the part of some of the lower staff." He sniffed derisively. "I'll see it's taken care of. Would you like a seat on the patio?"

The Doctor looked to Rose, who smiled, and he nodded at the gentleman. "Come along Ponds," he added over his shoulder, "and be sure you try the gnocchi, it was a specialty of mine."

The view from the patio was picturesque. Tourists of every nationality wandered by, and the TARDIS translated their chatter, offering the group some fascinating entertainment. Halfway through their entrées, an amazingly ugly foreign couple walked by, holding a very private personal discussion. The mental images spawning from this graphic conversation caused an abrupt lack of appetite, and an uncomfortable quiet fell over the table. The Doctor pushed his plate away in disgust while Amy, blushing, picked at a napkin. Rory's face was skewed with concentration for a few seconds before his eyes widened in comprehension. He quickly began admiring the view in the opposite direction of the couple that had just passed them by.

Rose chewed her bottom lip for a couple of seconds and her eyes fell on the building across the way. She broke the silence. "What say we skip dessert and head next door to the Archives?"

"Done."

"Sold."

"Hear, hear." A chorus of agreement rang out from around the table as everyone hurriedly got to their feet. The waiter assured them that the bill would be taken care of by the embassy, and they left the restaurant at a fast walk.

The National Archives Building housed several dusty old pieces of paper that sent the Doctor into a dizzying frenzy of speech, telling old stories about everyone from Thomas Jefferson to Benjamin Franklin (who apparently had alien ancestry on his mother's side). He was reminiscing about drafting the Declaration of Independence as they approached that particular document.

"…and then, if you'd believe, we ran out of ink and had to go wake Mr. Jacobson so he could open the corner store and sell some to us. He wasn't pleased, but we did pay him extra."

"Couldn't you have gotten some from the TARDIS?" Amy wondered aloud.

The Doctor shook his head. "Not that wouldn't glow-in-the-dark or vanish after two hundred years. The nineteen seventies already had their fair share of problems, and chemiluminescence was ages away from being perfected," he explained.

Rose was squinting at the Declaration through a glass pane. "'Unalienable rights'? Really?"

The Doctor spun to face her, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, I had to cover all the bases."

"Why's the next bit all fuzzy?" She checked the glass for smudges, but saw no offending fingerprints that might distort the words.

"Fuzzy?"

"I can sort of read it, because I know what it says, but it looks blurred or something."

"Hmm…" The Doctor took in a lungful of air, held it for a few seconds, and exhaled slowly through his nose. "Perception filter." His hand dove into his inside pocket and came up bare. He wiggled his fingers in front of his face as though confused as to why they were empty. "Rory, where's my screwdriver?"

"I gave it to Amy after that problem in the men's room."

Amy pointed over her shoulder at the entrance. "I handed it to you when we walked in. You fixed my shoe, remember?"

"Then where…" the Doctor continued to pat at his pockets, but stopped when he heard a recognizable trilling noise. The three of them looked over to see Rose leaning over the velvet ropes, shining the light of the screwdriver onto the Declaration and grinning.

She tossed the sonic over to the Doctor when she noticed him looking. "Might want to read that," she suggested coyly.

"Hmph," was all the Doctor said. Rose didn't notice; she was too busy whispering to Amy, who started to snicker. He read aloud as he scanned, rather more loudly that he normally would have. "Endowed…. Unalienable rights…" (he allowed himself a self-satisfied grin) "That among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of 'Hello, Sweetie…'" He lowered the screwdriver, speechless with disbelief. Amy and Rose broke into a fresh fit of giggles, but Rory, at least, looked concerned. "Did she have to use something of _mine_?"

"What's yours?" Rory asked.

"That 'pursuit of happiness' bit." The Doctor tossed the sonic back to Rose, who caught it with the ease of practice, and continued his pout. "Quite inspirational, really."

"She knew you'd see it," Amy said knowingly. "That's how he keeps score." She added in an over-loud whisper to Rose.

Rose nodded, "Ahh, I see. Well, are we going?"

"Going where?"

She tossed the screwdriver back to the Doctor. "Well, you've got to _read _it first."

The Doctor sighed. He gave all outward appearances of annoyance, but was secretly enjoying their banter. He resumed his reading position and recited:

_Hello Sweetie,_

_I've discovered the reason behind the imprisonment. I won't lie, we've got our hands full. Meet me at the listed coordinates, and, if you could, have the kettle on, as I haven't been properly warm in ages. Bring the Doctor, too, if you must. He does get terribly lonely without you. Give my best to Mum and Dad._

_River Song_

_ΔΘ%/11'.Q_

The Doctor flipped his sonic screwdriver into the air, caught it, and stuffed it back into his pocket with a flourish. He turned to leave, reaching out a hand for Rose's on his way out. As she took it, she heard him mumble to himself, "Trouble…"


	8. Trouble

A/N: I am now running a tumblr that includes author's notes, references, trivia, and other bits of information about my Doctor Who fics. You can find it at isthisbuildingon dot tumblr dot com - hope to see you there!

* * *

A green earth-sized planet in the Alpha quadrant of the Andromeda galaxy housed several semi-legal trading markets and more than a few unsavory characters. The inhabitants knew there was a native name for this planet, but the members of the Shadow Proclamation had simply referred to it as "Trouble" for so long, that the name had been adopted into the archives.

Fashion on this false jewel of a planet tended towards concealment, since hiding one's face and valuables made a visit much less bothersome. For this reason, a cloaked and hooded stranger alarmed no one, as anyone with any sense was cloaked and hooded themselves.

The exchange of money was laughable, as it was so easily counterfeited – only precious metals, organic technology, and information kept the Trouble economy stable. A semi-psychic monitoring system was in place over most of the marketplaces, keeping anyone from cheating too badly, but bit of subterfuge was always expected. Dealing politely and within reason was considered horribly rude.

"If they aren't attempting to swindle you, they aren't worth doing business with", the locals would say. If you deal too fairly, it's obvious you have no experience with trade.

Through one perfectly medium-ish marketplace on the southern end of the northern hemisphere walked a cloaked and hooded figure, which should come as no surprise. This specific figure stood out from the rest of the shrouded mass—literally—by sporting a pair of shimmery red four-inch pumps. River Song was in Trouble again, and she was loving every minute of it.

She passed close to another amateur pickpocket, feeling his deft hands attempt to unzip the sealed pockets of her cloak. A tiny buzz was all she could hear of her defensive system, and she smirked as he yelped, grabbing his numb hand and attempting to shake off his minor electrocution. _Five thieves in one alley. I must be getting close_, River thought to herself. A tiny warning signal jumped in her brain, and she turned sharply to the right, grabbing the wrist of a pale girl whose hand held River's screwdriver and an electromagnetic device perfect for pilfering. River squeezed the girl's wrist until she dropped both items. The screwdriver was caught and replaced; the electromagnet was crushed under a red stiletto heel. River glared down and asked the girl in a stern tone, "what exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Thieving, ma'am. I'll do better next time, I promise!" the girl pleaded, "Just don't tell my brother I got caught, he's winning the sneak-away, and I'll never hear the end of it if I get my points docked again."

River sighed. "Poor dear. Here," she passed an ornate coin purse and a spare anti-thievery alarm to the girl, "now you can tell him you relieved your target of the mark _and_ the alarm system, but I'd appreciate Repudiation in exchange."

"Cor…" The girl quickly typed River's guest code into a wrist communicator, blacklisting her from the guild. "But where'd you manage these, if you don't mind my asking?"

River nodded to a nearby stall. "Large fellow over there. Flowery dress. Your mayor, I believe?"

"He is, ma'am," the girl confirmed. "And this will help my points, surely! Can you tell me how you caught me, though? So it doesn't happen again?"

River tapped the remnants of the electromagnetic pickpocket with her shoe. "Mechanical whine above the range of normal human hearing."

"You're human, though, aren't you?"

"_Normal_ human hearing," River repeated. "Now off with you; show that brother of yours the purse, he'll ease off you for a while."

The girl beamed and took off, colliding with several members of the throng and filling her pockets with the ease of long practice. She had the makings of a good thief, River assured herself as she ducked into a tent marked "keep out" in eighteen local languages. Time for business.

* * *

"I've seen only one place seedier, but it's two clusters over in a binary star system," the Doctor said, stepping out of the TARDIS and holding his watch up to eye level.

Rory followed and squinted in the acrid fog. "You don't think she'd be there instead?"

"Good thinking, Rory," the Doctor complimented, pointing confirmingly in Rory's direction. "But no, she can't be. It's sort of troublesome to get there. Completely blocked except for subspace travel; takes millennia even in the best of ships. And it's the reason for the universal policy of non-interference."

Amy and Rose exchanged a knowing look. The Doctor noticed his companions' silence and looked away from his watch at each skeptical face in turn.

"All right, universal _guideline_ of non-interference. Look, the entire Midichlorian Galaxy is completely inaccessible, and River gave us very clear coordinates to this place, so there's no point in debating it."

"So what did you do to have a whole galaxy blocked off from the rest of the universe?" Amy asked, making Rose snicker.

"It wasn't me. Honestly, it wasn't!" he assured his friends. "Well, not entirely; bit of a Time Lord Academy biology project that got away from us. Tried to create a single-celled omnipotence, and it turned out to be hyper-symbiotic with local life forms. Scared the pants off the council, so mostly worth it. And we all got full marks." The Doctor tilted his head to match the angle of a pulsating dot that flashed blue on the pearlescent face of his watch. He pointed towards a densely packed marketplace about a kilometer away. "She's that way. Come on, you lot," he ordered, turning around and marching back into the TARDIS. Rose and Amy followed.

"But…" Rory said, pointing in the opposite direction towards the crowd.

"Not walking half a mile in poisonous fog, Rory," the Doctor called from inside the TARDIS. Rory immediately held his breath and ducked inside.

A few minutes later, they landed in an alley. Upon exiting the TARDIS, their narrow path into the marketplace was blocked by a thuggish bald purple-skinned fellow that was _not_ an official member of the planetary welcoming committee. "You're in trouble," he rumbled in a singsong voice that belied its malice.

"Oh good!" said the Doctor. "Thought we might have gotten lost; thanks ever so much for your help. Can you point us in the direction of the nearest lavatory? We've got a bit of an emergency on our hands."

The alien's eyes glazed over as he attempted to decide whether the Doctor was clever or stupid. They remained just as vacant when the hilt of a gladius dropped down hard on his head. He fell, unconscious, to reveal Rory, who had snuck round behind him, clad in armor and holding his newly-repaired sword.

"Makes me feel safer," Rory explained, rapping his knuckles against his breastplate.

"Ooh," Amy pursed her lips and linked arms with him, "that makes two of us."

"Three," Rose quipped, earning an affronted glance from the Doctor. "Well," she motioned to the sword, "it's no screwdriver, but it helps out in a pinch, yeah?"

"Speaking of, do you mind?" the Doctor asked. Rose smirked and pulled the sonic out from behind her back. "Where do you keep hiding it, anyway?" he wondered.

She returned it to him with a cheeky wink. "Tell you later."

The Doctor mouthed at the air, attempting to form a retort and failing miserably.

"How are we supposed to find River in this lot?" Amy prompted him.

The Doctor snapped his fingers and reached into his pocket. His forehead wrinkled in concentration as fished around for a bit, diving in nearly up to his elbow. "I swore I put them in…" he looked up to see Rose trying to hide a smile. He inquired, "Is this a new affectation?" as he reached into her jacket instead.

She smiled at him with her tongue between her teeth. "Could be. D'you mind?"

He looked up and their eyes locked, only inches away. "No…" he admitted, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, "I suppose not."

"Still here," Amy reminded them after a few seconds.

"Right," the Doctor said, straightening. "Super-technologic-time-traveler-detector-gizmos," he announced, opening the white paper bag he'd just procured from Rose. "Hold on, those are Jelly Babies, where did you… Nevermind, hand them over, come on."

Rose passed him another paper bag from her opposite pocket, which he opened, fanning the contents and holding them out for display. He handed each companion a pair of 3D glasses before donning his own. Rory flexed the earpieces of his a few times before putting them on. "No, Rory, stop!" the Doctor shouted in alarm, "The blue goes on your right! Make _absolutely sure _that the blue goes on the right."

"What? Why!? What happens if it's wrong?"

The Doctor looked flummoxed. "Well, it just looks stupid, doesn't it? Alright, everyone, keep an eye out for floaty-woaty void stuff; you'll know it when you see it, and don't tell River how we found her, in case she hasn't told us where she is yet. Meet back at the TARDIS in an hour with a report and at least one souvenir apiece, the mantle in the drawing room needs redecorating. Probably best that we go in pairs." He held his arm out to Rose, who took it.

"I thought you hated pears," Rose reminded him.

"You, Rose Tyler, are always an exception," the Doctor assured her as he motioned the Ponds to the south end of the marketplace.

They exited into the noisy, milling crowd.


End file.
